


The Colour of Memories

by Nico_Roads



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Heavy Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 12:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13658568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nico_Roads/pseuds/Nico_Roads
Summary: This takes place in an alternate universe so to say, it's very familiar to the STEM world but more closely related to Sebastian's failing mental state. The plot tells the story of his PTSD, anxiety and his servere paranoia, the after effects of the time spent in STEM and the loss of his wife.Two worlds blend into one where reality can be difficult to distinguish.The narrative is also a bit different as I've mixed in my own experiences being a widowed man myself.  The character who makes up Sebastian Castellanos feels so intimately close to me so I thought it would be interesting to mix things up a bit, not everyone may enjoy this but from a creative stand point this was fun to write.





	1. Chapter 1

Paint it, Red  
_________________

 

Sharp nails dig into his side's, he fights the pain because the touch on his skin is much sweeter.

It's a misty cold, shrinking blood vessels he starts to shake, but she is relentless holding him to the bed. 

Before long a climax of air fills his lungs not for the sake of arousal but an awakening, he enters the unknown, a world crafted with no blemish, fragmented pieces slam against each other building walls around him before they split into bedrooms. White dances along the wallpaper.

"Am I dead?" 

"Not yet." Another voice answers him from the glow of sheets. 'Whose paranoia is this? There's nothing but fear. This must be my own.' Walking towards a glow he can't escape like a moth to a flame it's intoxicating. Not because it's warm but because it terrifies him in all the worst ways, it cracks his mind and rapes him of his heart while it dances with his soul. He is too close to stop now. He needs too many questions answered but the plunge threatens to rob him. But he doesn't care there is nothing else left to mourn a loss.

A touch. A brush of fingertips. He is gone.

Droplets of blood sprinkle his side's as the long nails dig deeper pulling him in and then suddenly letting him go. A breath, sucks in oxygen like he is from another planet adjusting everything. Vessels resurface to the skin. Hair follicles react to the closing warmth, pupils dilate. He is alive. 

He stands, vacant, confused he must be sick. Sick everywhere but too haggered to care. Feet slowly abandon the other him, the guy who says it matters. It makes a sound and he turns, agree it truly does matter. 

"What's the matter baby?" 

His ear leaning down slowly so that he can hear her reply from the bed in which she lays. Peaceful yet chaotic wrapped in a beautiful fashion it brings him back to the fire that pulled him closer just moments ago. The envy runs deep. 

A slender first finger, thin and beautiful. Gives direction and longs deeper for a touch from the alternate reality. Her hope goes untouched she directs instead. His right hand she can see it shimmer in the light a sliver hue slides down his finger. 

"Your ring keeps slipping off." 

He turns, eyes falling down an arm and over a wrist, the process long and slow, his envy slows down time. The ring slips. He feels the metal tickle his skin before he even sees it. A clinch of his fist saves him from the loss. The emptiness of his wedding finger is grateful to feel the steel encircling it again. His eyes back on her. Eyes tell her he noticed. And extends his hand to her cheek brushing down the dip of her face and retreating to her lips a soft thumb creases an olive toned lip. 

"I am home darling." He whispers into her collarbone a emotional warm breath crawls up her neck and lingers in her ear. It speaks to her. It tells the truth. It breaks open his spirit and lays it on a map before her. He doesn't need to explain. 

"Shh.." she whispers against his forehead, lips pressed against the words like a blanket met to cover him, keep him from lossing his grasp on reality.

"Not yet." She whispers deeper this time. It stings his heart but gives him something else. Reality splits into the cosmos where a place built for nothing but the map to a gateway. It opens, ominous silk plays the cords of the voice that echoes from the other side. He accepts the invitation. It pulls him through, water stings his cheeks and burn his eyes. Too afraid to drown, too afraid to suffocate, he succumbs they are both the same and pulls in water to replace dying oxygen. Painless. This isn't real. A illusion. The ghost of a man watching the present self laying next to a woman in a hotel bedroom. The gateway. To a place where only she exist, what is real lays a treasure to this place. This is his front door to the place he calls home. And she is the reward each time he opens the door, where the smile is real, the touch never fades the aroma closes off the cold of the hours spent without her. 

He makes up for it regardless and makes love to her soul through the ghost of her body on a rainy Autumn night. Cigarette smoke blooms blue as it dissipates reflecting the shadow of the moon's light. Damp almost black hair spiderweb's the sides of her cheeks a decoration worn only by the purest of euphoria survivors. The vibrations of rain tapping the roof smooth the mellow light that grazes over backs, shoulders, hips and legs. Skin broken, bleeding and blending. 

"Not until you relive my life will I open the road back to me." 

The foreign voice shatters the space, splitting the gateway and the current memory into pixels that crumble into dust. The floor gives out benethe him and he falls into the abyss. Nothing to grab. Nothing to slow down the pain of the fall it threatens to demolish what is left of his mind. He fights hard for the little he has left, like a stray animal the fight for survival is at war on his spirit. It kicks him hard against the enclosing memories of regret. Penetrating the couple layers of his skin. Blooming dots of blood begin to stain his side's again. The colour changes as it leaks through fabric and a register of pain seeths him for a third time.

The approaching end growing wider by the second. The warmth of a moth dances along his skin igniting the envious fire that kept him moving. The answers, the questions. He had to know. He followed it dangerously close, ready to lose, prepared to win. Whose on the other side? The washed up man too haggered with regret? Or the aged survivor? He closes the bottle of regret and blows forgiving air from the weight of heavy lungs. It frees him. He closes his eyes because he is a creature of habit. It stops, a thin line of light peers between his nose and the oil benethe him. The plane rotates and adjusts his focus without him having to move an arm. The not so threatening oil growing soild to support his weight now changing from hunter to prey. The plane shifts again lowerering him to the crackling ground. 

The move forward is smoother. It warms his bones, gives him a focused eye, changes him. An army follows him you can only see in his eyes. 

Determination worn under the eyes of an aged man. He'll push his way through the waste of his mind, close the wounds he can find and destroy Pandora's box. The clamp that suffocated his sleep loosens it's hold. He shatters the wall between them opening different laws, different life, different suffering. It blends together like a beautiful gradient wave it becomes one, particles of the unmixed memories hang from the ceiling like spider webs waiting for that moment you slip and trigger the biles of hell at your heels.

"It's over, when I say it's over." 

It opens again.

He kisses her warm fingers just managing to catch the smell of her sweet skin it changes the taste in his mouth, like honey on his tongue he'll remember it. 'Prepared to live any life this reality greets him with if it gets him closer home and further from the world that has given him a number.'

The gateway memory closes on him. 

A weathered man drenched in mystery and shadow walks the neighborhoods, the back alleys, the city. Fighting the weight of his reflection in the muddy streets. He'll grow to love the other side of the coin in his pocket, the other side to him. They are trophies now, the scars they left. 

A mutter of noises shatter the haze, voices cutting amongst each other. Far and wide from one universe to another they relay messages and warnings. It paralysis existence, shaking and cracking in and out it freezes solid and groans deep from the passages of time a rusted voice preparing the masses it replies. 

"He is coming. "


	2. The Red Door

The Red Door  
________________

It's been too long it feels. Minutes are hours while hours are turned into days and a single month is a whole year. The other world was so much kinder in the sense of time than this one. There's a hemorrhage in this place somewhere, his mind plummets him here often to find it, so often he loses what was ordinary and gains familiar comfort instead. A trade of complacency for the burning truth. It's been bleeding for so long he wonders if he'll be the same person once he ties it off? it's hard to say, he may not make it to the end to tell, it bothers him little and little as he walks passed ominous silhouettes rotating their necks to show off their twisted teeth flipping into a grin. They prey on his memories, those long buried pieces of the man he tries to hide, bloodshot glowing eyes see right through him, one reaches inward to steal the treasure. Spider like fingers crawl down his chest and splits open his heart to rape the soul of its only value- His hope. Fingers play over its light casting a shadow that tunnels his vision, he is blind for a moment that feels like several minutes, as he waves his hand through the mist that so threatens to rob him. A glimmer of light flickers under a reaching hand, the size alone makes him pause in his stride just to soak in how small that beacon is compared to the titian who is greedy for its stories. 

There's always a heavy cold steel pressed just below his spine in between his waistband. It never leaves that dip in his back unless he gives into sleep on occasion. He retrieves it quickly as he approaches the thief. Raising the barrel of the gun to the massive hand with all but a thumb ready to snuff the light free. "You fucking touch that and I'll-" He waves the barrel in the air about to act out what he was so eager to say a second ago until anger took over. The earth rattles under his feet, it splits apart in some areas, unhinging locked doors that shielded his sanity as the dark voice turns to speak. 

"What. Will. You. Do?" 

A volcanic eruption crumbles his exit as the demon laughs and begins to mock him. "Shoot me? Will you?" The shadow pulls back a bit as the demon accommodates the amusement. He notices and pulls back the lever to load a bullet into the chamber.   
"This may not affect you." He starts off with a whisper but it grows into a dark threat that bounces off the walls and ceilings. The snickering demon shrieks as the middle aged man pulls the gun to his own head. "But it most definitely will affect me, which in turn affects You!" He tightens his grip around the handle of the weapon, maneuvering the barrel a bit just over his temple as to make sure he won't feel it. He closes his eyes, he'll wake up somewhere, not sure where but hopefully it won't be here. "Wait!" The shadow escapes around the wall, clawing at the paint as it does so. The light grows dim as the shadow hides behind it, now feeling so minute. It snickers out a chuckle as the man walks closer. " You want me to leave? Oh yes I know you do." The demon rocks back and fourth to the warmth of the glow, the last beating fire inside the man. "Come... come, come." It curls it's fingers in a forward motion inviting the man closer, he does so but not because he was invited but because what he wants to say is better felt up close. His expression contorted in anger, wrinkles under his eyes thicken as the gap is drawn closed between them. 

The barrel of the gun is jammed into the demons forehead. "Get!...Out!" The dark voice stabs away at his armor, peeling him piece by piece. "Spare me...please." The demon throws up a shadow to hide his face, the presence is fading yet fighting. "Here! A trade instead." A coal smoldering hand reaches into itself and pulls out a vintage key, presenting it to the traveler. "I'm not making deals with devils." He spits in anger as the iron key is placed in his palm. The cold metal makes him rub it between his fingers, speculating his value. "Oh but this is no ordinary key." The demon says as he feels comfortable enough to do so as the mans gun drops slightly away from his demise. "This opens a door." The dark voice purrs. "Great!" The older man is annoyed now at the amount of time he just wasted when he could have already fired twice. "No, no, no." The demon insists as the steel is readjusted. "Not just any door. The Red Door." The man pauses for the second time, not so sure if he should. His anger about to boil over, but something speaks to him. Tells him he should listen. The gun falls away and is tucked back to the small of his back as he rubs his thumb over the keys etch marks. Hooked. He made a deal with one of his weaker demons, a life for a key. "What's on the other side of this 'Red Door'?" He says as he slips the key into his pocket. "Your wife." The demon slurrs out the answer like the last note in a famous opera. It looks to relish the expression of the man but is wise enough to do so while retreating.

"Fuck!" He yells in frustration as the light blinds him in reaction to the demon leaving. The light bleeds through the dark realms of his heart and pushes him out. A vacant two lane road catches his fall, the streetlights play a minor light show in his head as he staggers to his feet and tries to gain his surroundings. "Where the hell am I now?" He groans to himself as he rolls his right shoulder into his left hand trying to ease the pain that asphalt left in his arm. He walks the stretch of the broken road several miles, he wonders about the strange homes lined up perfectly off either side of the road. Each looks identical to the next, maybe it's the cold blue darkness and the soft light that cast below from curved poles that blend everything into itself. So little saturation. He pads his left pocket and fishes out that odd key. So beautiful and chaotic as he holds it to the light to get a better look. "Are you on the other side?" He thinks out loud so maybe if it's true his wife may answer, but no voice replies, all but the nights crickets break the eary stillness in the air. "I might have just signed my life away." He remarks to himself, sliding the key back into his pocket a bit annoyed.

He turns the corner and the place begins to feel like a maze. He sighs hard at the identical sight and turns around not willing to participate in this insanity anymore. Barely able to get a good stride going he suddenly stops, interuppted by a rub around his ankles. He looks down and is surprised to see a white cat purring around his feet. He reaches down to brush his fingers through the animals fur. The odd friendly cat jumps instead to reach his knuckles, greedy for a scratch. Once it does the cat trots behind a fence hoping the man follows. 'Hmm.' He wonders about it but the cats curiosity rubs off on him. He turns the corner of the fence and follows the cat through a wooded trail just off the road, it grows a bit darker as the streetlights fade behind him. He looks back one last time as the remaining light disappears into the trees. His walking turns into a short sprint as he pushes up a small hill. The white cat perched on the banister of the front porch, waiting patiently for the man. 

"What the-" 

He loses his words as he sees the cat, but most of all his honest reaction is to the house. So out of place. The subtle colour of amber pouring from swirled glass windows. Ivy crawls down the left banister pole of the porch spidering down the lattice. Cobble stone rounds off a path to the old wooden steps. He walks up them softly, his boots still manage to pinch noises from the old stairs as he remembers how they once did back then too. His hand brushes over the front entrance, cracked paint splinters around a stained glass insert. 

"The Red Door." 

He whispers as his fingers wrap around a rusted iron handle, his free hand retrieves the key and slips it into the lock, a slight twist to the left and it pops open, a loud, aged sound gives way to the keys presence like it had been years since it was last touched. "Thanks Kitty." He turns to say, a smile in the sound of his words. The cat meows at him, as if to say 'You're welcome.' It leaps from the banister and runs into the house, grateful to the man with opposable thumbs.

 

Almost afraid, half torn between misery and pleasure. The last choice you make to step backwards or forwards because you can't run. He believes two steps back for him will bring him closer as he steps over the threshold of the door, closing it gently as to not break himself. The smell of the place makes him feel brittle and cold almost as if he should not be here. Feels like a polite break in. He doesn't stay in guilt long though as he takes a few steps forward into the foyer. A woman's coat lays draped across the stairway banister, he brushes his thumb and first finger between the material and losses his train of thought, before the scent of perfume cascades down the stairs like a gentle tide that washes over him where he once stood lost. He looks up and walks a bit to the left to try and follow the scent but it finds him first. 

"You're home early babe?" The woman's voice soft and pleased with his surprise as she walks down the stairs and walks up to the man. She kisses his bottom lip as she turns the corner to the kitchen. The wave of that perfume warms the side of his face where she pecked his lip. He turns to it not yet finished, but not so sure what to say either as he walks into the kitchen to see his wife brewing tea and feeding the cat. He places his hand over hers as she reaches for a mug, his fingers run over her knuckle bones and turn her hand over into his own, he has memorized the lines in her palms as he has done this so many times in the past. He pulls her hand to his lips as he places a kiss to her skin. "How long have I been gone?" His voice gentle but deep from age as the skin leaves his lips. 

Her eyes express a concern to the question. She closes the cabinte door to keep the intimate space open and her focus on the eyes that know more than he should. She reaches for his face, trailing fingertips from a warm hand over his cheekbone and jaw. "What's wrong darling?" She brushes away a few stray hairs with her other hand. "It's only been a couple hours." Her smile feels like a drug he abused years ago, the vice he was told he could never have but manages to find, and realizes it's not the drug that has intoxicated him but the time spent without it. The cure. His shields fall to the floor and the flag of surrender goes up. "It felt like forever." His words to a hero, his hero. His mind still wanders a bit in confusion but knows the drugs side effects well, they eventually fade as he drinks in more. 

"You look so tired babe." She can still see right through him, the dislodging of his armor proved useless to the eyes of his wife. Those telling eyes.   
"I know." He sighs off some of that weight and looks to the floor. "Stop feeling guilty." She says almost predicting his weakness. Her hand cups the left side of his jaw pulling his gaze back up to hers. She wonders what kind of man is hidden under all that mess of burden guilty wrinkles and coarse facial hair that hides the boy she fell in love with. She wishes she could wipe him clean of it all but knows that those things are the thorn that drove him back home. She is grateful yet pained by it. "Come up stairs." She urges him by grabbing his hand and leading him up the stairway, he follows behind like it is the most natural state to live in. She opens the door to their bedroom and walks inside, closing the door behind him. She pulls down the right side of the duvet. "Come rest love." She says hoping he'll lay down this time, he walks towards the invitation but sets down instead, looking to the pillow then off to his wife. "I don't think I can." He whispers in a somewhat defeated tone as he rests either elbows to the tops of his knees, his head falling into an almost prayer position he longs to stay there for a second. The familiar comfort this place has on him drags him closer to the bleed that threatens him. So very unsure if he even wants to stop it at this point. 'It's home, who does not want to be home?' He sighs the thought into bruised hands. One side of him feels a sudden shift on the bed, he finally lifts his head and looks to see her now sitting next to him. 

"Let's lay down together then." She says with that smile again. The one that cracks him open the most. How could he ever deny such a thing? Her hand pushes his shoulder gently downward as she lays down on the pillow next to his, the motion takes him down with her like a fleeting feather gone astray. His head and back grateful for the comfort of such a thing. She places her arm over his chest and rests her chin on his shoulder, her eyes looking down his legs. His left hand slides up his side to hold the lonely fingers close to him. He turns to look at her, so much closer this time, all her secrets have no place to hide and neither do his as she returns the favour. "Can I kiss you?" He says softly, requesting the presence of the queen. The majesty of his heart and soul. She blinks a few times as if to signal him a question as to why he even asks. He doesn't follow as usual so she begins. "Of course you can." He leans to feel her lips upon his own. The touch that reconnects all his broken nerves, he knows of its enormous hold on him, the way her existence has spidered its way into his own, that is why he asks. Separation has grown impossible to achieve and neither of them seem to care. She returns the kiss feverly, hoping to swallow some of his pain to equal the burden have he allow her.

It doesn't quite add up what she hopes to carry off his back so she leans in further to pull in his oxygen. It all happened so fast before he noticed his heart rate up a beat faster as she teased his bottom lip and slipped a hand under his shirt just grazing up his hip bone and ribcage. He pulls on the hand, not wondering if he should or shouldn't, his heart plays the instruments of his actions while is brain tries to fill in the gaps. She slides closer at the sudden gesture and pulls her shoulders slightly above him waiting for the 'Okay' in his eyes. He cathes that one sooner and feels lucky for it. He glances a nod towards her as he holds her hand to the side of him, balancing her for the most ease achieved as she moves in. She crosses both her legs around his hips and places both her hands to his chest. A fitting place to be have he be in need of CPR, she was once a nurse afterall, or better, the best seat to admire his wife, he is grateful for both. Her hands run down his chest and abdomen finally sliding up his shirt, where her touch really wants to be. Her fingers play a deep last note on his shirt as she pulls away, telling him she wants it vacant from his skin. He pulls his shoulders up a bit to remove the shirt, his head falls back to the pillow as the annoyance is tossed to the ground. He repeats the song back to her with a softer touch and she obeys to the end, freeing her skin of any clothing. Fingers run down her sides and hips as he admires the imperfections and scars on her body, so few compared to the ones her own hands now trace over. A few stray lines on his hip bone tell of a cry, and the closely knitted ones on his abdomen and forearms speak of his guilt as they are numerous to count. The deeper ones stretched over his shoulders and arms spill his grief, the depth proves it runs deep within him. "Why so many darling?" She says touching each one, her eyes sadden by the ones she knows she cannot see. "Why so few?" He dodges the question with another question hoping to buy some time to answer. She looks down at him, her eyes a slight change as she leans to feel his lips again. "Because you lived longer than me." She whispers into his mouth as she pulls away, waiting for his answer. He runs his fingers through her hair tucking stray curls behind her ear. "Because I walked through Hell to find you." A subtle smile appearing on his face, so new to her from the man she just spoke to in the kitchen, it comforts her in all the ways she's ever dreamt. He knows the power he holds on her at this very moment, wondering if she could see her own on him. The eyes tell what the mouth cannot say and she submits to hands molding her shape as they trail down her shoulders, collarbones, and chest, where his thumbs rest upon sensitive erect skin. His lips nipping at her neck, her head falls back as she pushes her breast into his needy hand, he continues to ravish her skin while pressing his free hand firm to her hip to keep her close. She runs her fingers through the back of his hair as his head dips into her chest bone, she moans as now both hands are tight against the small of her back pushing her body to his chest he escapes a hungry moan as well when he finally looks up to see a fire burning in the eyes of his wife. So determined and passionate, this is what love must be made of? The binding of two souls gives into the notion of 'I'll never let go.' Not after experiencing the way it feels, the way it captivates and creates a still life of the unimaginable, invincible to decay. 

She frees one of her legs from his waist and slides her knee between his legs to better unclip his belt he lets her go at it as he leans back on both his elbows. Taking advantage of the few free minutes to catch his breath as the memories behind this door take him through deep waters. Her fingers rub away at the exposed denim reacting a hum from his lips as his head falls back into the pillow. The tease feels more like abuse as his erection pushes against his jeans, he maintains his composure like a master as she finally relieves the pressure unzipping his trousers, he helps by lifting his hips to push his legs free of the material. Wandering eyes look him up and down as she leans down on him licking a trail from the tip of his penis, up the base and to his chest bone, where he reaches for her, pulling her into a hard kiss. The taste of himself mingles with the taste of her as he swallows his composure, inviting her legs around his waste again, he pulls his fingers down her back, sides and hips as she teases his heavy erection between her legs, brushing her hips in such a way that her precum wets the head of his penis. 

"....Arugh god!" He groans at the flickering warmth nipping at him. It aches at this point and she takes notice, giving him a few short gentle pulls which cause him to spill a considerable amount of clear fluid. He moans with an expression of relief as the slight absence in tension bleeds into pleasure. "Come babe." He grabs her hips, inviting her to be with him. She accepted long before he even asked as she presses each hand to both of his shoulders. She pulls her hips downward a bit and frees a hand quickly to take hold of her husband's penis guidding it inside of her. He doesn't push but allows her to get comfortable, when she returns her hand back to his shoulder after accommodating him does he begin to move his hips. Slow and deep he follows the grace of his wife's body to the motion. Her hands move to his chest as she takes him deeper, she moans with each slow thrust, by the time her hands are draped to his knees he knows she's begging. The motion quickens as he buries himself in her, craving in and out of her beautifully. She almost screams under the sudden onset of euphoria as he does so, her body trembling under waves of pleasure, she cannot save herself. The collapse of walls begin as he invades her spirit and she gives in to the capture. The heart of the woman always locked away in the tallest of towers, no man willing to travel the broken road, or willing to carry her back. She is saved from herself when the invading turns to rescue. The knight has arrived. 

A scream of pleasure mixed with a surrender, sets her free. The climax severs her mind in the most beautiful way, it recreates her DNA, all kinds of noises pour from her as she cums for several minutes. He stops the momentum and allows his wife's orgasm to finish him off. Pulsating muscles rub every cinemeater of his erection, squeezing the shaft as the waves crash through her again and again. He closes his eyes trying to capture the place they've created, the collateral after effects the aroma has on his mind plants new seeds where light now shines, the weaker half calls for a damage report. 'You must remember this cannot be real.' While the man he really is, is lifted away from anymore wants or needs. He is far too deep in his world to doubt. A burn of pleasure bleeds down him and builds inside his wife, he moves his hips a bit to try and adjust the pressure but the sudden movement trips his weak wire and he screams a moan of body aching pleasure as he ejaculates. 

She leans to scrape her lips down his neck and up his quivering chin where she locks her lips around his, inhaling all his little noises as he comes down to the current reality again. She knows all she needs too, much beyond what he thinks she does. He has so much he wants to say but she places a gentle finger to his lips which were parted just seconds ago. He moans a bit between his teeth as she pulls off of him, leaving the sticky substance between them, she pulls up the blanket to warm growing cold skin as it's drapped over his chest but over her shoulders as she always felt so much colder than him. She speaks into his pectoral muscle. "Do you still remember my favourite colour?" That must be a question within a question, some sort of riddle, he knows the answer too well, he was her excavator after all, the archeologist of her tomb, the translator to her heart. His voice plays her soul like a violin. "Of course....Red." His eyes look down to hers so focused elsewhere. "Do you remember the colour it was before?" He whispers, his expression trying to find her gaze, but her eyes still cut through a different conversation they both agreed to have but are they really having it? "Black." She whispers the reply hoping to keep her secrets anonymous in a world of glaring eyes, the words make it pass and into the hands of the man whom they are addressed. He answers. "And who painted it?" So it appears true, the riddle is solved, and two conversations are in fact being held at once. Voices speak on the realm of their beginning while eyes debate if one another is truly real, the poetic interrogation between two of the same discover the truth and both reach the end of worldly devastation. Alive and together. "We did." She says her eyes finally look up to the man that holds her close, her secrets even closer. An expression of endearment on her face she smiles as she notices him about to speak. It's contiguous as he smiles into his words. "That's right." He leans down to kiss her once more, one more touch so that he may hope this one stains his lips with the taste of his wife. He inhales once, not knowing if he wants to come up for air this time, his voice dances along her lips. 

"....Your favourite colour sweetheart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is half way done...gotta search for that last bit of creative momentum to finish it. 
> 
>  
> 
> @.@


End file.
